


the world has got no shame

by sabinelagrande



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Bathing, Damn you tumblr, F/F, Face Slapping, Femdom, Fisting, Mind Control, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-24
Updated: 2012-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:03:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven thought she really had it figured out this time, how to beat the system. </p><p>Emma is going to prove her wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She was lucky this time; she knew the sweep was coming, and she had time to choose. Male, because she wasn't stupid enough to make _that_ mistake again; not ugly, but not attractive enough for "personal services," not big enough for hard labor, just right for housework, scullery maybe, secretarial if she was really, _really_ lucky. There was nothing she could possibly do to make it any less appalling, change in any way the fact that she was going to be someone's _thing_ , but at least she could soften it, hold something of herself back, keep herself infinitesimally safer.

It was one of the nicer auction houses this time, which was surprising. She'd probably run through every one in the city by now, but she almost never ended up in a place like this, certainly not looking like this. For once, she actually enjoyed the usual clean-up; it felt like years since she'd had a bath, and while it wasn't true that nice houses had nice amenities, this one did. Clearly they didn't think she'd make a personal either, so all of _that_ cleansing she got to miss out on.

They dressed her, usual blue and black, a little too baggy for her in this form. She took a look at the lineup as she waited: mixed bag today as far as possible occupations went, mostly male, a few far too pretty girls mixed into it to keep people interested.

After a lot of hurry-up-and-wait, one of the house staff clipped a leash to her collar and led her onstage. Being on the auction block itself was always the strangest feeling. While it wasn't as terrifying as it was the first, or the second, or even the fifth time, it was horrible; but, somehow, she couldn't help but feel like it was a competition. She kept feeling like she needed to outdo what it had been last time, what other people were pulling down; there was an element of pride, especially when she'd carefully engineered her appearance to pull the right bids from the right bidders.

It was really sort of depressing and disturbing how calm she was about it. She really had done this far, far too many times, and she'd probably do it plenty more before she finally figured a way out.

Bidding was poor today in general, from what she could hear, and after the auctioneer's first call, no one even moved. That was when Raven panicked; the last thing she needed was to _not_ get sold, because god only knew what would happen then. She did her best; she'd been slumping her shoulders, looking down at her slippers, but she looked out at the crowd, giving her best soulful, puppy-dog look- the front rows, those were the ones to pay attention to. The people in the back, the ones on the phones, those were the bulk buyers, the ones you wanted to avoid, the kind who'd buy twenty laborers sight-unseen and put them on a chain gang, buy twenty personals and put them somewhere worse. The people in the middle were the ones who were bored, the ones who treated it as a social event, a place to go on a weekend afternoon- they weren't going to bid anyway, so there was no point in wasting your time. 

The ones at the front, though, those were the big spenders, the ones looking for exactly the right thing. _Those_ were the ones to play to.

She tried a couple of them, locking eyes and giving them the "Help me" look; that was a good one, because it worked both ways, pulling on the heartstrings of the ones who thought they were going to save you and promising dark satisfaction to the ones who wanted to control you. Even then she wasn't getting much back, and that's when her heart started pounding. It was possible that all of this had been a critical miscalculation, that she'd picked the wrong form, gotten sent to the wrong house; there were options if she didn't get sold, and all of them were bad.

She swept the audience again, looking desperately around, and her gaze fell on someone she hadn't noticed before; she was sitting in the second row, all the way at the end, but still Raven wasn't sure how she'd missed her. She was all in white, long fur coat obscuring most of her body, blonde hair falling down around her shoulders. She was giving Raven the oddest look, tilting her head and considering her; there was something deeply strange about it, and Raven just couldn't figure out why.

She nodded at the dark-haired man at her side, probably her majordomo, and he raised the paddle; Raven did her very best not to let her relief show. It wasn't that hard, because there was really very little to be relieved about, but getting taken away by some obviously wealthy woman was among the best outcomes she could hope for.

For now.

There was a little back and forth with some man across the auditorium, but Raven had trouble paying attention; there had never been any real doubt that the woman would win, especially with the way she countered him effortlessly every time he bid.

And then the man gave up, the gavel came down, the audience applauded, and that was that. They led her off, and the majordomo came up and signed the papers, taking Raven's leash and tugging her along after him. The woman in white didn't even look at her, just walked ahead of them, responding politely to handshakes and cheek kisses as they passed through the foyer of the auction house.

Raven blinked as they stepped out into the sun, dazed by the light long enough that there was a sharp tug on the other end of her leash. It only reminded her that she was in service again, but the wheels in her head were already starting to turn.

Now it was time to start figuring a way to get _out_.


	2. Chapter 2

The ride was silent; the woman in white went ahead, leaving her alone with the majordomo. Apparently she was the only purchase today, and she sat in the back, wondering if she could jimmy the doors open. She wasn't sure what would happen if she fell out of a moving vehicle and into traffic, but maybe she could mitigate it somehow, pick the biggest form she could think of, do it at a stoplight. But then the jig would be up, and besides, where would she go?

They were moving upwards, into the richest part of the city, but it wasn't all that surprising. For god's sake, she'd just been bought by a woman who apparently went around wearing a fur coat in the middle of the day in _March_ , and people still spoke to her; she had to be _very_ rich to pull off being that crazy.

The van stopped, and the dark-haired man came around and clipped her leash on again, leading her out. She stepped down onto the curb, taking in her new cage. She'd served in bigger places, but probably not one this expensive; by the standards of this neighborhood, it was palatial, taking up the width of two of the other townhouses that lined the narrow streets. It was clearly very well kept, in perfect order while maintaining a whiff of old money, right down to the patina on the delicate scrollwork of the balconies.

Fucking ridiculous.

The inside of the house was sumptuous, living up to the promise of the perfectly constructed façade. As the majordomo led her in, she felt more than a little awkward; these weren't the right clothes, too coarse for being upstairs in a house like this. It wasn't a matter of being comfortable- that wasn't really possible- but it mattered to be _appropriate_. Nails that stuck out got hammered down, and the more attention was on her, the harder it was to fall through the cracks.

They reached a set of tall double doors, and the majordomo slipped Raven's leash onto his wrist so he could pull them open. The room behind them was almost more like a throne room than anything else. It was decorated in shades of red, gold accents here and there. There was a bar along one wall, everything in tastefully cryptic decanters, an ice bucket at the ready; a sofa sat along the other, one that looked expensive and uncomfortable- purposefully so, Raven imagined. There were one or two chairs sitting in the corners, but there was only one that mattered; the entire room drew the eye to one point, the huge gilt chair that the woman in white was occupying. 

She'd taken her coat off, but she was still sort of bundled in it, the hilariously expensive material carelessly tucked in around her. Now Raven knew why she wore it: she was hardly wearing anything else. Her shirt was little more than a glorified bandeau, straps going straight across it and around her biceps, and her skirt was almost as small. The only part of her that was actually covered was her legs, her boots stretching all the way up to the middle of her thigh; all of it was white, of course, titanium white. She was the only really bright thing in the room, shining and stark against everything else.

Raven was right. Very crazy, very, _very_ rich.

"Here he is, Miss Emma," the majordomo said, unclipping Raven's leash and more or less pushing her forward.

"Thank you, Janos," Emma said, nodding at him, and he stepped out, swinging the doors shut behind them.

Once they were alone, Emma looked her up and down. "Come closer," she said, crooking a finger at her. Raven shuffled forward, studying the carpet, trying to act as unassuming and unworthy as she could, matching her form and intentions.

"You can drop the act, honey," Emma said, crossing her long legs; she picked up a tumbler from the end table beside her and took a sip. "We don't hide in this house, not unless it's to our advantage."

Raven's heart stopped for a moment before she could reassure herself that Emma couldn't possibly be talking about her appearance. "I don't know what you mean, Mistress."

Emma tilted her head, giving Raven another one of those strange looks. «I said drop it,» she said, straight into Raven's mind.

Raven's breath caught in her throat; she hadn't heard anybody do that since-

«You're stalling,» Emma warned. «Do it or I do it for you.»

She swallowed hard, shutting her eyes; it was always a little harder when she hadn't changed in a long time, not even to sleep or bathe, but soon enough it melted away. She stood there in what she'd always thought of as her normal body, blonde and female, the way she saw herself in her head.

"Now _that's_ something to look at," Emma said approvingly. "Show me more." Raven paused; it was sort of hard to think of anyone off the top of her head. "Start with a brunette," Emma prompted.

Raven reached into her mind, looking around. She kept people in there, people she'd known, people she'd seen in passing, people she made up out of whole cloth. There was a brunette matron she'd worked under, a short, squat woman who smiled a lot, and Raven took her on, wiping her hands on her apron just as she'd always done when she was proud or nervous. Emma looked delighted, so Raven did it again, a man this time, one she'd lived with on the street, rough but handsome, even despite how grim his expression always was. 

Just to prove she could, the next one was a little girl, the daughter of a family she'd been stuck with for a long while, angelic until she opened her filthy little mouth. Feeling oddly wistful all of a sudden, she flipped over into Charles's features, the way she thought he'd look now, if she ever saw him again, if he wasn't dead. Something was wrong with it, apparently, because Emma's brow furrowed; Raven moved on to a birdlike woman, a line drawing she'd seen in a book.

"Nice," Emma said, looking satisfied, sitting back and taking another sip of her drink. "Now show me the real one."

Raven hesitated. This was one of the worst parts; it was inevitable that Emma would see her naked eventually, maybe more so given Emma's reaction to seeing her powers. The first one was just so hard, so humiliating, so much worse than all the other ones.

"I told you what I was going to do," Emma warned, and all of a sudden it was like Raven's mind had been ripped out from under her. Her form changed without her permission, leaving her totally naked, more than naked; she'd been stripped plenty of times, sometimes more roughly than others, but this was something different, devastating in a way she'd never felt before.

Emma stood up, walking over. She circled Raven's body, taking her in as she held Raven still with her mind. Then she was in front of Raven again, giving her a perfectly mild look; Raven didn't expect it at all when Emma slapped her across the face. "I know things didn't work out the way you wanted, and you thought you could do this one on your own terms," she said sweetly. "But you don't set the terms here. I do. You're bought and paid for, honey, and you'd better not forget." She smiled. "Now, what do we say?"

Raven could feel when Emma gave her back control of herself. "Yes, Mistress," she said. The talking was never hard, not when there were so many ways to hide "Fuck you" in any word; she just had the suspicion that this time, everything else was going to be hard.

There was a knock at the door, and Janos stepped in. He stopped short at the sight of Raven standing there, naked and blue and very obviously female; but he just blinked and moved on, the mark of a really good servant. "Ma'am," he said, "Mister Lehnsherr is here."

"Send him in," Emma said, looking Raven up and down. "Cover yourself." She ran a finger along Raven's neck. "Don't forget the collar."

Raven took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. She'd barely been here any time at all, and already she'd learned that this was going to be the hardest place she'd ever had to get out of.

She slipped back into her normal form, turning around in time to watch as Lehnsherr entered; he was tall, handsome in sort of a sharp way. He somehow managed to be imposing despite the fact that his close-fitting turtleneck did nothing to hide how thin he was. He barely seemed to notice Raven at all; his eyes flicked to her once, examining her like one would examine a target, size up a potential threat.

Apparently they already had something in common.

"Erik, sweetheart," Emma said, smirking, as she walked towards him. "I didn't know you were back yet."

"Unfortunately, I had obligations that required me to leave," he told her, putting his hands on her arms and bending to accept air kisses.

"By which you mean you hated it," she said; he gave her a look, and she laughed. "I don't need to read you to know that. You always do."

Lehnsherr said something else, but Raven didn't hear it at all, because just then, another man stepped in behind him, standing unobtrusively at his side. When he looked up at her, his mouth dropped open; she couldn't look away, transfixed.

«Raven,» he said, like a mental sigh, so much relief and pain pouring out at once.

Lehnsherr stopped abruptly, clearly taking notice. "See, now that's _that's_ interesting," Emma said, looking at the three of them in fascination.

"Explain," Lehnsherr snapped at Charles.

"That's- she's-" He stopped, shaking his head. "We grew up together, Master."

Lehnsherr looked at her, really considering her for the first time; his gaze was cool, professional, superior but not hateful, and he didn't seem to form any particular opinion on her. That was good. For now he'd keep his hands to himself; that seemed even more likely given the way he positioned himself, his stance protective, holding Charles back from her.

 _Charles_. Charles, who wasn't dead or in a work camp or a brothel or something worse; Charles, who looked much better than the last time she'd seen him, when they'd been torn apart. He looked pressed and proper, his hair combed neatly, no bruises where she could see them, no stiffness in his walk. It was how she'd always thought he was supposed to look, instead of dirty and hunted like the rest of them.

"Odd coincidence," Lehnsherr said, raising an eyebrow; he was suspicious already, which could work to her disadvantage, especially because she was suspicious too. She had _no idea_ how this had happened- bizarre coincidence or fate seemed to be the only options.

"I can't decide what to do with her," Emma told Lehnsherr, moving past all that. "I wasn't intending to buy."

Lehnsherr turn back to her, ignoring Raven and Charles for the moment. He snorted. "Only you would buy a slave on a whim."

Emma waved a finger at him. "You won't be able to fault me for it once you can see what she can do."

He crossed his arms. "I'm listening."

Emma gave her a look, and Raven made her features flip; out of sheer mischief, she picked Lehnsherr's face, giving him the same cavalier look he was wearing now. He stared at her, enthralled. "You just walked into an auction house and found a metamorph?"

"See? You'd have done the same thing," she told Lehnsherr. "But here's the part _you'll_ really like." «You better not hold out on me this time »

Raven didn't pause, the threat of the awful sensation of Emma changing her again outweighing her embarrassment at yet another stranger seeing her naked. She let Lehnsherr's face fade away, replacing it with her natural skin.

She looked at Charles first; he was giving her a fond, almost misty-eyed look, smiling softly. Raven smiled back for as long as she dared, not wanting to risk more suspicion from Lehnsherr. She looked to him next, and he was- she wasn't sure she'd ever been looked at like that before. It was hard to even describe, the dark, fierce wonder on his face. Raven was going to have to reevaluate. Now that he'd seen her like this, Lehnsherr might not be so apt to stay away as she thought, and that was dangerous on so many levels.

"I see," was all he said, and Emma laughed, light and silvery.

"I was going to keep her as a personal," Emma said, and Raven's stomach dropped, "but she's very quick. She's certainly already got you all figured out."

Lehnsherr raised an eyebrow, and Raven swore internally; of course Emma would take away any advantage Raven gained at the nearest opportunity. "Does she, now. And what has she decided?"

"I couldn't tell you that, could I?" Emma said. "Then you'd know what to expect."

"I always know what to expect out of you," Lehnsherr told her.

"Do you?"

He smirked. "I expect that you'll do whatever benefits you most at the time."

"You know me too well, darling," Emma cooed. "Still, I can't decide what benefits me most with this one. Something has to go on the census form, after all."

Lehnsherr gave her an amused look. "I can't believe that you're actually pretending to care about role assignments."

"I can't believe you're not proud of me for showing some moral fiber and respect for the tax code," Emma said, acting quite offended.

"I can't believe you got through that whole sentence without one of us laughing," he replied.

"Neither can I, sweetheart," she said, smiling. "But you're exhausted from the drive." She looked pointedly at Charles. "Go lie down."

Something about that bothered Lehnsherr, a sore spot Emma was poking at- deliberately, if Raven had learned anything about her. "Now you're showing concern for my health. What in the _hell_ happened while I was away?"

Emma leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "I sat around thinking of new ways to bait you."

" _There's_ a surprise," Lehnsherr said. "I imagine I'll see you at dinner."

"You will," she replied. Lehnsherr gave her a polite nod and walked out; Charles dared to give Raven one last look before following him.

"My, my, my," Emma said, still looking towards the door after they'd gone. "That's going to be fascinating." Raven couldn't tell what she meant by that, but she held her tongue. "Watching you and Charles and Erik. Don't bother waiting for permission to talk. I can still hear you, so you might as well just save me the trouble."

"Yes, Mistress," Raven said.

"Plus it lets us be a little nicer to each other, doesn't it?" Emma pointed out. "Because you can just say, 'Yes, Mistress,' and I can pretend not to hear, 'Rot in hell, you horrid bitch.'"

"Yes, Mistress," Raven said.

"There we go," Emma said encouragingly. She turned towards Raven, cocking her head to the side and considering her. "You're going to have to do better than this," she said, waving a hand to indicate Raven's torso. "The body is fine. The clothes just have no _imagination_. I don't know if you've noticed, but we don't do things halfway around here."

"I picked up on that," she said dryly.

In another house she'd have gotten smacked for that, but it only seemed to amuse Emma. "I'll give you something for free, honey," Emma said. "I get bored _very_ easily." It was a seemingly light statement, a throw-away, but there were a world of things behind it, threats and mischief and promises. "Even if you couldn't look however I wanted, I'd use you as a doll anyway. This just saves me time at the dressmaker's." Emma gave her a smug smile. "And believe me when I say that money is no object. Don't hold something back because you think I couldn't afford it."

"I'll keep that in mind," Raven told her.

"I know you're testing me on protocol," Emma said. "If you forget yourself in front of anyone else, you won't like what happens, but when you try to use it on me, I'll know you're just trying to suck up." She walked away, going back to pick up her drink. "I don't know if you've run this through yet, but I have," Emma told her. "There are only two real choices here. The house is fully staffed, and you'd be a waste at any of the lower positions anyway, so secretarial and personal are the only options." 

She looked Raven up and down. "You'd make a good secretary. You've got a sense for people, don't you? I'm not sure if it's a mutation or not, but you read people. I can get into their minds, that's not a problem, but you can read their _bodies._ " She raised an eyebrow. "And I've gotta tell you, it's kind of impressive how much you can get off them and how fast you can do it."

She paced slowly, her footfalls silenced by the deep pile of the carpet, and she reminded Raven of some sleek predator- a jaguar, maybe, or maybe a snow leopard was more appropriate. "You may or may not have noticed, but my opposite number is a little telepathy-shy, and very unfortunately for me, he's got his own pet telepath to let him know if I've been rooting around in his brain." She stopped, looking at Raven. "But Erik can't stop you, can he? He was here ten minutes and you've already got his number." 

Raven didn't bother to deny it; Lehnsherr had been all but screaming, and sometimes she honestly forgot that other people couldn't see. "He can't even _blame_ you, not when what you were using was so out in the open, not for doing something that comes so naturally to you. I'm not even sure you could stop yourself from doing it."

Emma smiled, and suddenly Raven caught up with the argument, figured out what was coming next; dread washed over her, collecting in the pit of her stomach. "And that's the trouble, right there- for you, I mean. You can't stop doing it, and I can read your mind. I don't need to act like I care about you to get what I need to know or stay in your good graces to make sure it's accurate. And I certainly don't need the tax break, so." She paused, finishing off her drink. "Personal it is."

Raven's pulse pounded in her ears, her vision swimming; for a moment she thought she'd faint under the weight of it, the crushing weight of the fear and the shock and the disappointment.

Legally, slaves had to be classified according to occupation; different occupations were taxed at different rates, with slaves performing multiple occupations taxed at the rate of the highest- and of course, personals were at the top, the only ones cleared for sexual services. Everyone knew it was a farce, but it just wasn't talked about. Owners classified their property as secretarials and fucked them; they classified them as house workers and fucked them; they classified them as laborers and fucked them.

They classified them as personals and didn't do anything _except_ fuck them.

It sounded great on the surface, your only responsibility consisting of something you'd probably be forced to do anyway, all the rest of your time devoted, presumably, to lazing around; that was until you knew that personals also had the highest suicide rates, the lowest life expectancies, and the highest average number of sales over their lifetimes. If you were a laborer, you could probably labor right on into your fifties, but nobody was going to keep a personal whose best days were behind them.

Raven had done absolutely everything to avoid becoming one, had managed it her entire life, always doing something wrong just at the right time, staying one step ahead. But she was a shapeshifter who never got any older, and now she belonged to a telepath with a short attention span; and unfortunately for Raven, it was a perfect match.

Emma pressed one cold finger to Raven's skin, just below the hollow of her neck. Raven could feel as the collar appeared, cold and heavy against her; even if she'd tried to look, she wouldn't have been able to see it without a mirror, but Emma sent the image right into her mind. A teardrop shape made of braided platinum, meeting in the front at a smooth, polished square; a drop ring hung underneath, and above it, right in the middle of the square, was a flawless oval diamond.

Somehow Raven knew that the collar didn't open.

"Go on and change for me," Emma said, stepping back. Raven picked someone at random, a hulking, ugly man; she expected all Emma's hard work to be gone, but there it was, resting against her skin- it had even gotten bigger, accommodating his neck.

A cold panic settled over Raven, because it was worse than she'd even thought; she didn't know how Emma was doing it, whether it was just an illusion or something she'd done with Raven's own power, produced it then locked it off, placing it out of her mental control. It didn't matter, because even if she managed to get out, she _couldn't get it off_.

"Change out of that," Emma said, wrinkling her nose. "You look terrible."

Raven let her form shift. Comparatively speaking, today had started off so well, but now she felt more _defeated_ than she had in a very, very long time. Worst of all, there was no hiding it; there were so many things she'd learned to keep her emotions back, to keep projecting exactly the image she wanted to, but they were all useless when she was standing two feet from a telepath.

Emma smiled at her, the close-lipped smile she preferred, sweet and pretty and completely cryptic, the kind that could hide absolutely anything. She held out her glass, tapping it with her fingernail. "I need more of this."

Raven took it from her and walked to the bar, because there was just nothing else for her to do.


	3. Chapter 3

Emma has business to attend to in the evening, and she leaves before dinner; thank god Raven doesn't have to deal with that today. It's not at all strange for personals to sit at their owners' feet during meals, maybe even get hand-fed, and that would just be too much right now. Instead, Janos collects her, showing her around the house. The upper floors are split fairly sharply, Lehnsherr's rooms on one side and Emma's rooms on the other. All Emma's rooms are decorated similarly, variations on the red and gold theme. He takes her in as far as her boudoir, but doesn't actually show her the bedroom; Raven's completely fine with that.

On the other side of the house, Janos only shows her Lehnsherr's sitting room, the only place that she's likely to visit with any frequency. It's nothing like Emma's at all, wooden panelling and comfortable furniture, looking like you could actually _sit_ in it and not just be received. No one's in there while they look, and Raven can't decide if that's good or bad; she needs to see Charles again, needs to know that he's actually here and not just some dream her overtaxed brain came up with to deal with this situation. On the other hand, she's not particularly keen on seeing Lehnsherr again, not until things are settled, until she knows what she's doing.

Downstairs everything is merged, one staff for the whole house, which is the least ridiculous thing she's heard all day. The staff is quite small, no more than a handful, all slaves except for Janos and the head cook. It doesn't escape her notice that more than one of them have visible mutations, and the boy who's doing laundry when she passes isn't bothering to hide the fact that he's levitating it. Raven can't quite work that one out- is that progressive, preventing mutants from possibly falling into the hands of human owners who'll abuse them, or is that just elitist, refusing to allow humans to contaminate the house even if it means exploiting other mutants?

They pass the hallway to the quarters, but he doesn't take her there; it's not a good sign.

She takes stock of the strategic advantages and disadvantages of the downstairs. The windows don't have bars, but she's not sure yet where they come out or how bad the drop is. She'll have to make a point to check the next time she's unattended. There's only one proper exit, a door in the kitchen; Raven tries to discern whether it's locked, but she's not sure- she doesn't even know if they _need_ to lock it, not when Emma is around to keep tabs on everyone.

Finally, Janos turns her over to the cook. She sets a bowl of stew down in front of Raven, looking at her like she's waiting for Raven to complain about getting coarse food, like she's already decided Raven thinks she's better than everyone else just because she's a personal and a novelty. Raven finds it almost impossible to give a damn, because she's too busy devouring it; it's the first good meal she's had in a very long time, and honestly, in terms of getting her through, putting her in the right position to go _without_ food afterwards, it's worth ten plates of anything she'll get to eat if she's living upstairs.

Once she's satisfied- and the cook has moved on from looking affronted to just looking suspicious- she's passed off to yet another of the staff. She's starting to feel like this is Hot Potato, when she'd much rather be in a game of Keep Away.

The next person to tote her around is one of the house workers, Lourdes. "If you'll come with me," she says, her accent twisting up the words, and Raven tries to memorize it immediately; she could do everyone else by this point- Janos, Emma, Charles obviously, the cook, Lehnsherr if she didn't open her mouth- but Lourdes's voice interests her. She looks at Raven without contempt, though she doesn't look particularly sad for her, either. She's someone for Raven to work on, a possible ally; Janos and the cook, they're free servants and thus can't be trusted, but Lourdes- maybe.

She ushers Raven upstairs and into what must be Emma's private bathroom. The red wallpaper here is a little lighter than in the other rooms, a little easier on the eyes. Raven wants to protest that she's already bathed today, that she's not even a form that's gotten dirty; Lourdes must know what her mutation is by now, Janos and Charles know, the whole house probably knew about three hours ago. It's not that the bathtub doesn't look really alluring- it looks like there might be scented oils, bubbles do not seem to be out of the question- it's just that this seems like the first step, the beginning of the end.

But she keeps standing there and Lourdes keeps standing there, and they could very well just stand there all night until Emma eventually _puts_ her in the tub. "Fuck it," Raven mutters, when she's had more than enough of it, and Lourdes seems to relax; maybe _she's_ the one who'd put Raven in the tub and she just didn't want to go through all that.

Raven thinks about undressing, but it'd just be for show at this point, so she lets her clothes melt away. Lourdes stares at her, but she doesn't say anything; yeah, everybody knows. She opens the taps and climbs in, looking at the assortment of soaps and things in the basket that hangs over the lip of the tub.

"The oil in the green bottle is supposed to smell nice," Lourdes says, in that offhanded voice that's common among slaves and servants, the you-didn't-hear-that-from-me tone that comes along with statements that express more knowledge than one is meant to have, knowledge that might, for example, have come from sneaking in when one's owner is out to make use of the opulent bathtub- yeah, Lourdes is definitely an ally to be cultivated.

Raven drips some of the oil into the bathtub; it's nice, lemongrass and ginger, and Raven sinks into the water, breathing it in, letting it soothe her, draw her thoughts away. She picks up the soap, sliding it over her arms, lathering it against her skin. She draws her leg up out of the water, leaning forward to rub the soap over it, flexing her foot to get some of the stiffness out of her calves before repeating the process on her other leg.

She runs the soap up over her stomach next; she takes a little more time than is strictly necessary to wash her breasts, lathering them up thoroughly, but she really can't be blamed for that, not when it feels so nice. She's really starting to relax, the water doing its job admirably, but then she goes to wash her neck and runs straight into the collar.

She's never seen one like it, which she's one hundred percent sure was Emma's intention. Personals almost always have ornate collars, usually metal, but this one is more than a little excessive; it doesn't just mark ownership, it very distinctly marks _Emma's_ ownership, because Raven's already pretty sure there's nobody quite like Emma.

Something occurs to her, though, and she looks at Lourdes, who's looking away, distracted by something. It just confirms Raven's suspicions- everyone in the house has metal collars, and Raven isn't sure what that means yet.

The party is over, the mood busted; she cups her hands, scooping up water and rinsing off the suds. She pulls the plug, and Lourdes helps her out, offering her a towel. Raven doesn't actually need it, could make the water just disappear, but it's a nice big fluffy towel, and it seems like a shame to turn it down. She does make the water in her hair go away herself, a trick that's endlessly useful. She doesn't know if she's going to be offered something to wear, a suggestion of what to change into, but all Lourdes gives her is a bathrobe. 

_So,_ she thinks, _it's going to be like that, then._ Out of sheer contrariness, she make herself some slippers, little blue ones, because the bathroom floor is cold and no one is there to stop her.

Lourdes leads her out, walking her towards the doors to Emma's bedroom, and Raven has no idea what to expect inside, but she knows it's going to be ridiculous. Lourdes doesn't make the same kind of grandiose gesture of opening the doors as Janos, which tells her right off that no one is inside. Instead, she cracks one of the doors open, pulling it open far enough to let Raven in.

Emma has, for the third or fourth time in their very short acquaintance, outdone herself. The entire place is _spectacularly_ white, ceiling to floor. The carpet is thick, almost shaggy; there's a mirror along one wall, making it seem bigger than it already is. The bed is enormous and inviting, white sheets turned back, but Raven wonders how anybody can ever get any _sleep_ in here, when the room itself is so bright.

Lourdes gives her a nod and a look of pity- somewhat subtle pity, but definitely there. Raven is at a loss, completely unsure of what to do. Now that she's alone, the terror of this situation is starting to come back, the reality of it closing in on her. Any moment now, Emma is going to come in, and she'll make Raven do whatever she wants- Raven would beat her in a fair fight, but there's no such thing as a fair fight with a telepath.

She sits down in the armchair, huddling up a little; her skin is still warm from the bathtub and she's wrapped up in this robe, but she's still getting cold, a trick of the room, the iciness of it. She doesn't know how long she waits, ten, fifteen minutes, waiting for the door to open, maybe a mental warning, but Raven gets nothing until her body starts moving without her, standing up. She lets her robe slip off her shoulders, the material pooling around her feet; after a pause, she slides out of the slippers, too.

She walks over to the bed, and it feels like it always did when Charles did it, when they were just playing around, divorced from her body but still there- but this isn't the time to think about Charles, not at all. Emma makes her climb onto the mattress and arrange herself to Emma's liking; she's sitting back up against the pillows, knees bent, feet planted on the bed. From this position, Emma can see absolutely everything when she walks in; Emma draws her knees together, making it a tiny bit more demure, but it is definitely not nearly enough to even pretend.

It's yet more time before Emma actually arrives; Raven hears her approaching, hears her talking to someone- that's just perfect, exactly what she needs, someone else to join in on this catastrophe. The doors swing open, and Emma walks in, as cool as you please, completely not bothered or entranced by the sight of a naked woman in her bed.

"Thank you, Janos," she says, looking over her shoulder; Raven knows she's just saying it just for Raven to hear, so that there's no denying that someone else has seen her like this, as if there was any possible way that Raven would miss something like that. To his credit, Janos is very pointedly not looking at her, but that doesn't make it any less embarrassing; it might even work in the opposite direction a little. This is all about power, about Emma's ability over Raven's, but Janos has just made it about _shame_.

The doors shut again, and then they're all alone; Raven swallows down the lump of fear in her throat. Emma is still walking towards her, and it is completely unsurprising that Emma dresses _up_ for sex, not down.

The teddy she's wearing is a little wisp of a thing; the cups are opaque, beaded lace, pushing her cleavage up until it just looks unreal, but the fabric that hangs down from them is sheer, flounced at the bottom, more of a formality than anything else. The matching panties cover just enough to be tasteful, riding the line between alluring and cheap; she's wearing long white gloves that come up all the way past her elbows; when Raven looks closer, they're shiny- latex, maybe?- matching the thigh-high boots she's still wearing. Honestly, the whole thing doesn't seem any more revealing than what she was wearing earlier- it's maybe four more square inches of skin.

A voice in the back of her head says not to be ungrateful; if she's got to serve, she gets to serve a beautiful woman, which is probably the best possible outcome- on paper, anyway. Unfortunately, the difference is a little like having her neck broken versus bleeding out; the result is the same.

Emma sits down on the edge of the bed, turned to look at her. "You've never done anything with a woman," she says, skipping all the prologue, the back and forth, the numerous ways Raven could tell her to go fuck herself, and it's kind of a relief. Raven is just about to speak, to let out a defensive, you-don't-know-me response, but then she remembers, oh wait, telepath, kind of a waste of time. "Unfortunately, I can't expect you to jump right in." Now that is a goddamned _lie_ , because that is what Emma has been expecting from her pretty much since the moment they met. "So I decided to find out what you _can_ do."

Raven honestly has no idea what she means by that, but she already knows she doesn't really want to find out. There's a bottle on the nightstand- Raven didn't even see it, because it is, of course, white- and Emma picks it up, climbing up in front of Raven. Raven's knees part, exposing her fully to Emma's gaze, and Emma smirks; Raven has been trying very hard not to blush, not to give her the satisfaction, but she can't help it right then. 

Emma seats herself between Raven's legs, taking Raven in, her eyes sweeping up and down her. It's hard not to squirm under that kind of analysis, but luckily, Raven finds she can't, not with Emma holding her still. All she can do is lay there and try to anticipate Emma's next move, plot out the advantages she might have, ways to make it better, to make it _stop_.

"You think too much," Emma tells her. "Impressive, but kind of exhausting." She uncaps the bottle, pouring whatever it is, some kind of lubricant, onto her gloved fingers; she makes a show of it, rubbing it between her fingers and thumb like she's testing it out. Raven wants to tell her to get the hell on with it, but at the same time, she tries not to even think that, very mindful of the fact that the repercussions could be very bad. At least Emma has long, thin fingers, delicate hands; this could be much worse. She's not expecting soft, but this could be a lot rougher, if for no reason but simple biology.

"Just relax, honey," Emma says, and Raven only just stops herself from rolling her eyes. Emma strokes a hand down Raven's thigh, fingers dragging along the sensitive skin there, and that's one of the things Raven hates the most in these situations, the part where they pretend to be _nice_.

"Sometimes it's very filthy, being nice," Emma tells her, and just then she slides two fingers into her, pressing them slowly. It's not as bad as it could be; the lube helps a lot. It also makes Raven very suspicious. If Emma's just going to finger-fuck her, then why is all this prep work going into it?

Emma gives her a smile. "That's the problem, isn't it? I could tell you what's coming and you could get ready, but then you'd have to dread it until I do it." She's moving her fingers in and out now, pushing them all the way in on every stroke. "Or I could wait, but then you wouldn't have time to prepare. But now that I think about it, I think you'd sweat-" she shoves in, making Raven gasp- "either way."

Raven doesn't say anything, just bites her lip, and Emma gives her another finger; she's still moving slowly, too slowly, like she's got all night. That is, unfortunately, completely accurate, and there's not a single thing Raven can do about it.

Emma pushes in one more finger, all four inside of her, and it doesn't exactly feel good. She hasn't even been _female_ in a couple of weeks, and she's never been stretched like this before. It's not like taking a cock, round and hard but ultimately predictable; the gloves make Emma's fingers nice and smooth, but that's where the similarity ends- their shape is irregular, capable of expanding and contracting, moving independently as they fuck her.

It hurts when Emma moves her hand, enough that Raven cringes. "This won't do," Emma says, frowning, and suddenly something _happens_ to Raven's body. It's like she opens up, suddenly looser around Emma's fingers; she was barely turned on before, but now she's soaking wet, feeling like she's dripping. The disconnect is absolutely bizarre, her mind hating it and her body begging for it, but before she can even get used to it, she realizes exactly what's about to happen.

"I want to see what you can take," Emma tells her. "You've taken plenty of cock before. I can see that for myself." A memory shoots through Raven's mind- on her back, legs wrapped around someone whose name she barely remembers. "But you belong to me now, and I want to see how much of a slut you are already. I'm not going to waste my time retreading old ground."

Emma folds her hand up, tucking her thumb into the middle of it, and Raven tries to bolt, to keep her from what she's about to do. It's a bad move; one, the motion of it jars Emma's hand in a way that's really kind of awful, and two, Emma just slams her down, a hand on her thigh for show but the whole force of her mind behind it.

"Don't," Raven says, but her voice turns into a whine as Emma presses in deeper; Raven lets out a choked gasp when Emma pushes her hand in all the way past her knuckles. It actually doesn't hurt that much, but only because Raven's horrible, treacherous body is accepting it, embracing Emma's hand.

Emma doesn't stop, her fingers curling inside Raven's body, and then there it is, Emma's entire fist inside of her, Raven's cunt swallowing her all the way up to her wrist. And Raven absolutely loses it; it's been a hell of a day, one of the worst she's had in a long time, even as bad as it's been lately. This woman didn't even own her, hadn't even _met_ her this morning, and now Raven's already her private whore. And apparently there's a pretty steep learning curve around here for whores, because this is possibly the most degenerate thing that anyone's ever done to her. 

And none of that would be so bad if Emma's hand didn't feel good, pressing on every sweet spot at once, completely overloading her circuits. It doesn't mean she wants it- _god_ she doesn't want it- but Emma's completely taken away the option of not enjoying it, any semblance of control she has over her body.

Emma leans over her, stroking her hand down the side of Raven's face. "It's fine," she says, kissing her; Raven tries to shut her mouth, but she can't, Emma forcing her to respond. Emma smiles when she pulls away, trailing her finger along one clear tear-track, licking the tear from her fingertip when she reaches the end. Raven can only stare at her through her tears; she knew Emma was crazy, but she hadn't really counted on Emma being this _sick_.

Emma leans back, and she very slowly starts rocking her hand. "Come for me, sweetheart," Emma says, and Raven holds out for about ten more seconds before she loses it entirely, clenching down _hard_ around Emma's fist and sobbing. She's never felt anything remotely similar, anything that could even be used as a starting point for comparison. She comes so hard that it _hurts_ , and it seems to go on and on.

But finally it's over; she's still crying brokenly, but at least it's finished, at least Emma will take her hand out of her and she can- she doesn't know how that's going to feel, but it'll be better than this.

"Don't get comfortable," Emma says, and this time she twists her hand- ever so slightly, but when she's got her entire fist in Raven's pussy, even slight is enormous. "You're not done yet."

"No," Raven says, tossing her head back and forth, which is apparently the only part of her she can even move, because nothing else cooperates when she tries to fight back. "Please don't- hurts- I _can't_ -"

"Can and will," Emma tells her, moving her fist carefully in and out. "Don't start thinking you have a choice."

Raven is past that point right now; tomorrow, _tomorrow_ she starts regrouping, planning, but no one could possibly expect it of her tonight, not with the kind of hell she's been through. Right now she just wants to curl up and cry.

Emma's only allowing her the crying part right now; she's moving her hand a little faster, and she twists it just so, and Raven screams this time when she comes. She really can't take any more now, certainly can't come again, as easy and as violent as the first two were, because now it just hurts. For a long moment, she thinks Emma is going to do it again, but she relents at the last moment; Raven sighs in relief. 

She's got this sneaking suspicion that this is one of the very few times she will see Emma show any hesitation at all.

It's worse going out than it was going in, but Emma, surprisingly, shows some mercy, withdrawing slowly. When Emma's hand is all the way out of her, Raven feels hollow, hollowed out, wet and loose; that's the part she can handle, that part she can focus on, because what's going on in her body is no match for what's going on in her head.

Emma holds up her hand, looking at it curiously. "You _are_ a slut, then," she says. "Looks like I got my money's worth." She reaches up; Raven tries to get away, but she can't, not before Emma slips two fingers into her mouth. "Suck," she says, as if she's going to give Raven another choice. She slides them in and out as Raven sucks them clean, and Raven's face is burning, but there's nothing at all to be done. They taste a little like latex, the lubricant a vague, almost medicinal note, but the taste of her own cunt overwhelms the rest of it. Raven shuts her eyes, tears leaking from the corners of them, and wishes she was somewhere else.

Emma takes her hand away, wiping it on Raven's thigh. "Take a nap," she says, kissing her on the forehead, her voice soft and sweet, like she's still set on pretending to be _nice_. "We can't continue until you pull yourself back together, and we're certainly not done here, honey."

She saunters out, and Raven curls up in the soft sheets and cries.


End file.
